


it feels so nice to know i'm gonna be alright

by 17826



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Early Twenties Life Crisis, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Friendship, I dont wanna call it slow burn cause its too short but they dont get together until the end, Implied/Referenced Fleabag (BBC), Jewish Richie Tozier, M/M, Miscommunication, Polish Eddie Kaspbrack, Recreational Drug Use, guess whos just finished a degree and is feeling untethered and ready to project their issues, ive never read the book and ill be real with u chief : i aint gonna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 09:57:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20928353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/17826/pseuds/17826
Summary: Alternatively titled, Richie Tozier: Young, Dumb, and Full Of Regrets As He Moves Back In With His Parents In A Small Town He Tried His Very Best To Forget





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from this feeling by alabama shakes , and i gotta warn ya from the start : if you don't like fleabag , this is Not Gonna Be The Fic For You Amigo . i have been inspired by my bill hader obsession to give richie his very own celebrity fixation on phoebe waller-bridge so . yes .
> 
> also , there's a tiny bit of polish in this that was done with an online translator because i don't know polish - if you speak polish and can correct me ( or confirm that i have the right translation ) i would be much obliged . for all us who don't speak polish , i've included translators notes at the end

**HISTORY**

[2:36] THAT SCENE from s2e4 of fleabag  
just neil 6개월 전 • 21만회

[2:13] Fleabag - classic Claire quotes  
break that fourth wall 2주 전 • 12만회

[5:06] Awkward Family Dinner | Fleabag Series 2  
BBC Three 6개월 전 • 48만회

[3:05] Emilia Clarke LOSES IT at Phoebe Waller-Bridge's Ridiculous St...  
The Gragam Norton Sho... 8개월 전 • 357만회

[6:19] Phoebe Waller-Bridge Loves Shocking the Fleabag Audience  
The Tonight Show Starrin... 6개월 전 • 34만회

[9:09] 73 Questions With Phoebe Waller-Bridge  
Vogue 8개월 전 • 51만회

Richie sighed and put down his phone, staring blankly out through the window of his small room. He didn't know what he'd expected to find when he was sure he'd seen every interview with Phoebe Waller-Bridge, every Fleabag compilation, every Killing Eve or Solo press junket there was. Most of it twice. Fuck.

He picked his phone up again by habit, unlocking it just to put it back down. "Fuck," he said out loud, just for the satisfaction of the hard sound. What the hell was he even doing back here?

There was a knock on his door and a pause before his dad's head poked around it with out opening it any further. "Richie?"

"Mm?" Richie replied, flicking his eyes up from where he was suddenly totally engrossed in... Whatever this book he'd just grabbed was.

"I was just wondering if you're in for dinner later," Went said, "I'm taking your mom to a movie but we were gonna go to the Italian first, get a bit of a wine buzz going, and you'd be welcome? Unless you're busy, or don't want to come, which is totally understandable, or-"

"Yeah, thanks, no, it's fine," Richie interrupted, unable to stand the babbling, and he cast about for a better excuse than 'I'm not sure I ever want to leave this room again'. "I'm, uh, I'm meeting up with some old friends from school."

"Oh," Went said, obviously surprised and then badly hiding his relief, "that's great! Anyone I'd remember?"

Richie shrugged. "Bev, Bill maybe, we're trying to convince the others to come too," he lied.

"The old gang," Went beamed, "that's great! There's, uh, there's food in the fridge if you want to cook anything before you go out. Don't drink too much on an empty stomach!"

"Yep." Richie looked down. _The Oxford Guide to Shakespeare's The Tempest_. He had to plan his alibis better than just grabbing the nearest book next time. Somehow, sitting alone reading middle school textbooks was the only thing sadder than sitting alone on your phone all day. The silence stretched.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," Went said softly, rapping his knuckles once on the doorframe before leaving, pulling the door shut behind him. Richie glanced up at it then let the dumb book fall out of his hands as his head thunked back against the wall. He'd wait until his parents had left, then he'd get the last of his weed from under the creaky floorboard and he'd smoke it out the window, order a pizza, and watch reruns of whatever. He'd have to think about finding a dealer in Derry soon, then he cringed at even the merest reminder that he was not just here for a weekend. Good job, Richie, back in with your parents. He picked up his phone and put in his headphones and opened YouTube.

***

"So how is Beverly?" His mother asked the next morning, once he had sloped downstairs for breakfast just to find his parents already having lunch. "I used to see her at the coffee shop by the bridge, does she still work there?"

Shit. Richie cast his mind wildly around to remember some detail, any detail, from the last time they'd texted, which was probably 9 months ago at this point. He made a non-committal noise. "She's aiming to go to UCLA to study fashion next year," he said, hoping that that was either a) true, or b) never going to be disproved to either of his parents.

"Wow," Went said, "I didn't know UCLA did fashion."

Richie tried not to react, probably failed. It's not his fault he did 2 years of a shitty acting course, where apparently the only thing that mattered was reacting.

"That's nice, good for her," said Maggie, oblivious. Richie breathed out. "Did any of the boys make it?" She continued, and Richie was stuck again.

"Nah," he said, not sure that he could balance 5 more likely-sounding stories when he could barely remember what Bev had been into, and she was the only one he'd kept in touch with after moving out to Phoenix.

His parents shared a glance, startled. "Oh, that's too bad," Maggie started, and Richie couldn't bear it.

"But we're finding some time this week to get together as a group," he said quickly, just to get her to stop looking at him like that. "Actually, I should go check my phone about that." He got up from the table and didn't look back as he took his now cold slice of toast with him.

***

Grow a pair, he threatened himself, an hour later, and sent the message he'd been agonising over before he could reread it for typos or tone adjustments for the 51st time. It's just a fucking text. He dropped his phone and ran a hand through his hair, pulling off his glasses. He sighed and told himself it wasn't shaky, because what was he afraid of? It wasn't like she'd immediately-

_Bzzt, bzzt._

His phone vibrated, screen lighting up underneath where it had fallen face down.

_Bzzt, bzzt. Bzzt, bzzt, bzzt, bzzt._

He stared at it with wide eyes. Was she fucking ringing him?

_Bzzt, bzzt._

It fell silent for a long moment, then he fumbled his glasses on, barely feeling the weight of his phone as he picked it up. He had 5 new WhatsApp notifications.

_WhatsApp • 2개의 대화방에서 메시지 71개의 새로..._  
_ **Molly Ringwald (5)** _  
_..._  
_ nevermind dont tell me save it_  
_ i get off work at 6 do you want to meet later?_  
_ i dont have a dealer rn but i could ask around, i th..._

Why did she reply so fucking fast? He'd counted on at least half a day of sitting in limbo, he never replied to anything that immediately. You gotta make 'em wait for it, Bev!

_Bzzt, bzzt._

The phone screen lit up again.

_WhatsApp • 2개의 대화방에서 메시지 72개의 새로..._  
_ **Molly Ringwald (5)** _  
_...i dont have a dealer rn but i could ask around, i th..._  
_ **The Loser's Club (67)** _  
_ Molly Ringwald: richies in town so were going out..._

"Shit, fuck, shit," Richie hissed to himself, double tapping the bottom one and opening the group chat he muted years ago.

_**Molly Ringwald**: richies in town so were going out tonight! whoevers free meet at my coffeeshop at 6, anyone who wants to join later text and well say where we are!_

The message above her new one was from December last year, and there were 65 messages above that which Richie had never opened. He flicked through them now, all Christmas and Hanukkah wishes, then organising various meet ups, then group texts about Game of Thrones or whatever else stretching back to that month before he'd left Derry. He'd stopped watching TV in Phoenix.

_Bzzt._

He scrolled back to the bottom.

_**🅱illiam**: Yes! Im around its been too long lets do it x_

Well, best start as you mean to continue, he supposed.

_buy me dinner first big billy xoxox_

***

He left his house at 6:10, which meant that by his calculations he would arrive at the coffeeshop at 6:15, which was just late enough to be an entrance, while still not giving himself enough time to chicken out. Some small part of him was whispering, why not just let yourself chicken out? Why are you even trying? He tried to ignore that small part as it got louder.

He fiddled with his phone case to distract himself, fidgeting it on and off as he walked. It caught the button, revealing the notifications from Bev he'd forgotten to click on. Praying there was nothing important he'd missed, he quickly looked through them.

_fuck dude!_

_its been a goddamn minute! ur back in derry? since when? what happened to phoenix? are u still dating whatshername?_

_nevermind dont tell me save it_

_i get off work at 6 do u want to meet later?_

_i dont have a dealer rn but i could ask around, i think bill might have some anyway so we could all meet up? it would be so cool to have u back x_

Typical Bev, suggesting plans then going ahead and making them without waiting for a response. She'd visited him once in Phoenix with a similar spirit of up-and-at-em. He smiled, despite himself, then stumbled over a tree root and put his phone away.

As he crossed the street, the coffeeshop and its patrons came into focus and he realised he recognised the small group of people standing just outside. A white dude, a black dude, and a girl, hair wrangled into a bun and glowing fire in the sunlight. She turned around.

"Richie!" She shouted, and more or less tackled him.

She was beautiful, god he'd forgotten how much. Seeing her again was like speaking a language you thought you'd forgotten but now realised was actually your mother tongue. He gripped her tight and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Ladies throwing themselves at me? It must be a day that ends in a y."

That earned a groan from the group, which, fair. She made to knee him in the balls but deliberately missed. "Asshole," she accused and relinquished him. Richie stepped onto the curb to face the others.

Bill and Mike; they looked at him like kids in a zoo and for a long moment, he looked back. Mike had some solid stubble going, his face longer and his eyes less wild, still taller than Richie but now not by much. He looked less hard somehow, more comfortable in himself. And Bill had filled out a bit from that stretched look of teenage boys who grew too fast, had finally lost that ridiculous fringe that Richie had so enjoyed pulling on. He made a mental note to make a moving tribute to that fringe's memory later.

"Well, you're all much shorter than I remember," he said, "and uglier too."

They took pity on him and probably only punched him a dozen times before the hugs began. Richie thought he might have preferred the punching.

"We missed you, buddy," Bill grinned, slapping him on the back as they didn't so much hug as wrestle. "Everyone else is too easy to beat at smash."

"Ah, well," Richie sighed, narrowly escaping a headlock, "Mike's always been easy."

"Fuck you," Mike said without any heat, and slugged him in the gut, "that's for leaving without saying goodbye."

If this was the only repercussion he faced for that then Richie would die a grateful man, he rather thought. "Sorry, iceman, didn't know you had any feelings to hurt." Mike hugged him and he endured it.

"Male bonding is weird," Bev said dryly. She looped her arm through Richie's. "Walk and talk, guys, let's go find some liquids."

***

An hour later, they found themselves settled in Derry's dingiest bar, all halfway to buzzed on their third round of beer or wine and their empty stomachs. Their chat had covered Bev's (thankfully extant) application to various fashion courses, Mike's job at the library, their opinions on Fleabag, and news of Stan's accountancy apprenticeship in Georgia. They still had yet to cover whatever Bill was doing to fill his time or assert their opinions on the latest Star Wars, but Richie was starting to think he might have to actually talk about himself at some point this evening and the feeling of ease he'd been slipping into started ebbing away. The idea of telling even one more person about his failure to complete even a bullshit degree like film studies made him want to hurl up his tepid glass of white. Maybe the nerves would sober him up. He drained his glass. Preemptive deflection was a thing, right?

"Hold up, hold up," he held his hands up, glaring at them all until they stopped saying whatever they'd just been saying. So sue him, he'd lost track of the conversation.

"You okay there, buddy," Bev asked, grin quickly becoming shit-eating, "you about to hurl already?"

"Fuck you," Richie sneered as Bill and Mike burst out laughing, "if I wanted to be reminded of my teenage escapades, I would be out buying pregnancy tests right now." Not his best, but whatever.

"Sure, sure," Bill said, placatory, "so what is it then?"

"Oh, I just have one thing to say to all of you beautiful, beautiful people, each and every one of you." He paused for effect. "Does any one of you have any God. Damn. Weed?"

There was a long silence.

"I can tell from the Voice that that's a reference to something..." Mike said slowly.

"Uh, yeah! Of course it fucking is!" Richie looked around them in disbelief. "Freckle? Caleb Gallo? Come on, none of you know who that is?" He put the Voice back on, he fluttered his eyelashes. "Sometimes things that are expensive... Are worse."

Bill raised an eyebrow. He could literally hear crickets.

"I am wasted on you people, Jesus," he huffed, "next you'll be telling me you don't know who Chris Fleming is!"

"Chris Fleming is a, like, super niche reference," came a voice from behind him. "Not a great thing to base your act around."

"Since when did you become my manager?" Richie said automatically, spinning on his stool to see a vision of the past standing there, in a sensible backpack and some practical shorts and a polo shirt that was just shy of too small. Eddie Kaspbrak had changed the least out of them all, the same build and the same hair and the same haughty expression, even if he had lost some of the puppy weight he'd carried as a teen. He even made that same feeling settle deep in Richie's stomach, as he always had, that hot, guilty impulse to just prod and poke until one of them exploded. Richie was suddenly 13 again. He _hated_ this, this was exactly what he'd been trying to escape by actually giving truth to the lie he told his parents, this scratchiness under his skin, but suddenly all he wanted was to be back in his room, sitting on that dumb single bed from time immemorial or whatever.

"Since we were like 6," Eddie said.

"Huh?" Richie said.

"Nevermind," Eddie rolled his eyes. "How have you been?"

"Banging as ever, Eds."

"Here we go, is that really how you want to start this, asshole?"

At the insult, something inside him settled a bit, something that hadn't felt right in a long time. He grinned and swung an arm around Eddie's shoulders. "Oh, I've missed this, dollface." Eddie didn't pull away and something about that realisation caught in his chest.

***

Richie woke up the next day to an almost familiar room and a very familiar ache between his ears. He was on his side, turned to face a bedroom that was just on the edge of tidy, walls a darkish green through the glow from under the curtains, and a big wooden desk with an office chair he was pretty sure hadn't been there last time he was here. Any details more specific than that escaped him, hungover and unbespectacled as he was. As a hand softly came to touch his back, he realised he was naked.

"Good morning," said a low voice, gravelly with sleep.

"Hurgh," Richie replied eloquently, and lurched out of bed into what he hoped was a bathroom rather than a cupboard to throw up. It turned out to be a tiny walk in closet, but it had an empty plastic bin so Richie wasn't looking it in the mouth.

He discovered, as he curled around that small bin and threw up some disgustingly liquidy vomit (like, seriously? Did he eat anything solid yesterday at all?), that he had vague memories of being here before, of doing this in this room, in this bin... Which was more comforting than maybe it should have been.

Someone crouched down in front of him, and he stared down at their feet, pale and bare and half drowned by grey pyjama pants. "Alright there, Rich?"

_Bill_. Of course, this was Bill's room. He'd slept off more hangovers here than anywhere else in the world, or at least in Maine. He took the glasses he was being offered gratefully. "Thanks, man."

"Still can't hold your drink?"

Richie squinted up at him, his fond smile coming to Richie through a haze of nausea that was starting to fade slightly, but just to be safe, he patted the ground next to him. "How much did we have?"

"Me? Not so much," Bill said, squishing himself slightly so they would both fit on the cupboard floor, feet pressed against each other and knees around their ears, "but I think you drank Derry dry my friend."

"Fuck," Richie scrubbed a hand over his face, and spat again into the bin before closing his eyes and pushing it towards Bill, sure the smell wasn't helping. God. "I don't- I mean, I don't remember... We had sex right?"

"Yes, it was very tender and you gave me the best blowjob I've ever had before cuddling me through the afterglow and telling me you loved me," Bill said dryly, "and then you got back into your underwear and socks just to cover the hickeys I made on your toes."

"I always knew you had a foot kink, Denbrough." Richie tried not to squirm at the idea of anyone's mouth on his notoriously ticklish feet. "Thanks for putting me up."

"No worries, it was just like old times," Bill smiled, "just fewer innuendos, and despite the nudity, maybe something a little more genuine."

Something flagged up in his memory. "Did I... Did we _snuggle last night?"_

"Yeah," Bill laughed, "that was new!"

"God, eww, did someone spike my drink last night?"

"I think Eddie wanted to, you were ragging on him pretty hard, but Bev talked him down. And you, y'know," and he gave Richie a certified Denbrough Look™, "are you sure you're okay?"

"Peachy keen," Richie tried to muster a smile but Bill didn't look convinced. "I wouldn't be me if I wasn't ragging on likkle Spagheddsy, would I."

"Right..." Bill looked away. "Well, I'm gonna jump in the shower, I'll, uh," he brandished the Bin of Liquid Death, "I'll get rid of this, feel free to grab food downstairs or go back to sleep or whatever. Mum's the only one in at the moment, but she always liked you so that's fine."

Richie nodded and tried not to look pathetically green as Bill stood.

"Okay, well, then I'll see you in ten," Bill said, and he grabbed a towel off a shelf and left.

Richie closed his eyes, leaning back against the rack of tops and no doubt creasing them horrifically. He breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, and again, and a third time. Then he got up and got dressed while refusing to pay his stomach any mind, climbed out through the window, down the drainpipe, threw up in a rose bush, and went home.

***

His parents had been so happy to see him actually leave the house that when Monday rolled around and Richie could finally keep solids down again, he actually found himself opening WhatsApp. "The things we do for our parents," he muttered to himself. But before he could open the group chat, he found a message waiting for him. He must have swiped the notification away without thinking, it had arrived sometime yesterday.

_**Edward Soninlaw**: You feeling okay?_

Fuck. He chewed on his lip, then replied.

_hangovers are a bitch once you hit 20, just be thankful ur a square who wouldnt touch liquor if it danced naked in front of you with nipple tassels_

He deliberated.

_sorry for the late reply_

He deliberated again.

_i was having sex_

Blunt enough to be funny, right? Subtlety was overrated anyway. The delivery ticks went blue almost immediately.

_**Edward Soninlaw**: I do and did drink, you just couldn't pace yourself if your life depended on it, which it kinda does_

_**Edward Soninlaw**: And wearing nipple tassels = not naked_

He snorted at the second message.

_so when i showed up at church yesterday entirely nude except two sparkly red heart shaped nipple tassels with gold streamers they really shouldnt have turned me away?_

_**Edward Soninlaw**: Nah they were right, it's for your own good_

_**Edward Soninlaw**: I'm like 99% sure you'd catch fire if you stepped on consecrated ground_

_**Edward Soninlaw**: Why were you at a church anyway_

He might have a point about the fire, Richie reflected. The last time he'd been to temple was probably three years ago, and a lot had changed since then.

_teenage rebellion, what are you up to rn?_

_**Edward Soninlaw**: Just channel surfing, got work at 2:30_

_**Edward Soninlaw**: Was thinking of watching that show you were all talking about, one word title, F something?_

He checked his watch; 11:21.

He swung to his feet and rifled through his drawers until he found two vaguely matching socks, pulled them on inside out, and grabbed his wallet and keys on his way past the bed.

"Bye, dad," he called, taking the stairs two at a time, "I'll be back for dinner!"

After unearthing something that could only charitably be called a bike from the garage, he yanked it into the road and texted as he cycled:

_see you in 5 promise i wont be naked xoxox_

***

"Told you it was good!"

"Well at least you're not being a smug asshole about it!"

"Oh, I learnt from the best."

"Get off me! Fuck off! I gotta go to work, but you have to come back later, I finish at 9 so come at like 10?"

"To watch the rest of it?"

"How many seasons are there?"

"Only two."

"Fuck! Okay, be careful with the window, it's-"

"Yeah, I know Eds, see you later."

"See you later."

***

At 2am, Phoebe Waller-Bridge finally walked away from the camera and Alabama Shakes moved to the front of the sound mix, and Eddie was making exactly the face Richie was sure he'd made the first time he watched it.

"That's all folks," he said cheerily.

"Christ," Eddie said, then laughed. "Christ! Not even you could fidget through that, fuck!" He looked at Richie with the shocked eyes of a man who'd witnessed a miracle. "The priest! It was God, I thought we were God! Were we God? No, don't tell me. No, do! Tell me!"

Richie grinned, happy to his core that Eddie was reacting this way. "I honestly don't know. You see now why all I can think about is Phoebe Waller-Bridge?"

"Fuck, Rich, yeah, I mean," he flopped back against his bed and ran a hand through his hair. "I thought you were just making some kind of roundabout creepy joke but the woman has to be a genius, she's got to be." As his arm rested above his head, the bottom of his t-shirt rode up a bit; he was looking at the ceiling and his throat stretched taut in the glow from the laptop screen. It suddenly hit him that Eddie wasn't the kid Richie remembered anymore.

"It'll pass," Richie said, and he hadn't quite nailed his Andrew Scott yet but he didn't think it was bad enough to merit the incredulous look Eddie was suddenly giving him. He moved the conversation on quickly. "We can watch Killing Eve next, it's not as good as Fleabag, and most of season two is missteps, but it's still pretty great."

"Awesome," Eddie said, and the weird moment moved off as he sat up, becoming regular old Eddie again. While he yawned, Richie breathed in with him, held, and out too. "Are you sleeping here tonight?"

"Nah, I, uh," Richie started and then realised he had no end to his sentence. Eddie looked at him. "Don't want to have to get up early tomorrow," he said lamely.

Eddie nodded. "I'll turn in then. You can go out the front if you want." He stood and Richie followed his lead as they tiptoed through the silent house, both missing the creaking top stair and the rickety floorboard by habit. Eddie watched from the door as he gingerly pulled his bike from behind a bush down the side of the house and they silently waved to each other as he cycled away.

He breathed the night air deeply, shivering a little in the October chill but taking his time anyway, letting his good mood meander him homewards. It was a cloudless night, and these stars were the one thing he'd missed from Derry when he'd looked up at the sky in Phoenix. Well, one of the things, anyway. He'd been worried on the ride to Eddie's this morning, unable to let go of Bill's strange remark about him teasing Eddie at the bar, but Eddie had been his usual self. If anything, he'd been less spiky than normal. Whatever; now that Richie had righted the world, now Eddie had seen Fleabag and that weird knot in Richie's guts was gone, the night was beautiful and it had been a good day.

As he pulled into his parents drive, his phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out to a new notification.

_**Edward Soninlaw**: 📸 You have ruined me Tozier_

He opened the photo; it was a screengrab of a YouTube video, the priest being relatable for 4 minutes straight. Richie had watched it already twice.

***

His life took on a strangely structured feeling for a week or so after that. He would wake at 11, grab some food, cycle over to Eddie's, climb into his room like when they were kids, watch a movie or half a series of some show and leave again before Eddie had his job at the diner. He'd go home, sit on YouTube for a couple hours or meet up with one of the other losers. He'd play smash with Bill and Mike or help Bev run errands, come home for dinner, then go back to Eddie's and they'd sit on his bed with the laptop playing from wherever they'd left off that morning. He'd make some excuse at the offer of a sleepover, cycle home, rinse, repeat. So far, after Fleabag, they'd covered Killing Eve, a Lord of the Rings rewatch, and a few of the films from Richie's course he'd actually liked. It was probably the most he'd ever sat still in his life, but it was worth it to hear Eddie react every time, without fail, in exactly the way Richie wanted him to. It was addictive. He didn't know why he never mentioned this to the others.

"What are you up to this evening? Wanna come see Space Odyssey at the Aladdin with me and Mike?" Bev had offered, a few nights ago, and he had invented some cousin who'd just had a baby that he'd promised to facetime.

"You up for a quarry trip tonight?" Bill had asked, "it'll be just like old times." Richie had said he was sure it was meant to rain that night, but maybe over the weekend?

"The museum's having a late night opening," Mike had said and Richie had reused the cousin excuse. Why fix it, he figured.

It was just fragile, he reasoned, this new truce between him and Eddie. Their friends all expected them to be at each others throats all the time, seemed to think they would never get past that childhood rivalry they'd had. To sit comfortably and watch their films and get along, so what if that was their little secret? It wasn't like they'd be ashamed if they got found out. It was just Eddie didn't seem to ever want him to be the guy he'd been before.

Nevertheless, this new practise of keeping schtum meant Richie's chaos quota was getting badly underfilled and by the 10th day of minimal shenanigans, he found himself practically vibrating. He sat on his hands until a bad idea came along and he opened the group chat.

_i want to do a thing has anyone dyed their hair before?_

He opened YouTube and watched Phoebe win her acting Emmy and give half her speech before any reply came.

_**Stan Urine**: 📸 Beat you to it pal_

He opened the image and there was a neatly cropped picture of Stan in a bar, arm around someone just out of frame. His hair was dyed emo black and his laugh was easier than Richie remembered ever seeing it, the sickly pinched look of anxiety long gone. He smiled despite himself.

_ok so has anyone ever bleached their hair then_

He watched the rest of the video then two Fleabag compilations he practically had memorised at this point. Either everyone feels like this a little bit and they're just not talking about it or... _Bzzt, bzzt._

_**Edward Soninlaw**: It would totally fry your hair, bleaching is only minimally damaging when you start on a naturally light base and use olaplex or coconut oil straight after_

Richie frowned.

_thats a weirdly specific knowledge u got there _ _spagheddie_

_**Molly Ringwald**: me n eddie bleached tys hair before_

_great meet me at the drugstore in 10 xoxox_

Then, ten minutes later:

_**Edward Soninlaw**: Can't, Bev can do it without me_

He frowned; he hadn't known Eddie had other plans today.

***

"So, do you think I'm gonna look more like Hemsworth or Pine?" Richie asked, an hour later, sat on the edge of the bath in the upstairs bathroom, a cheap towel around his shoulders. "'Cause I'm happy with either, but like, if I got a choice I'd probably rather go for the charm of Pine over the pop humour of Hemsworth-"

"You're not gonna look like either!" Bev was at the sink, mixing up the bleach. "If you want a natural looking blonde, you'd need a toner, especially for muted blondes like those. This is gunna turn your hair neon." She turned to him, shaking the bottle and grinning that grin which meant she was ready to commit arson. "Give me your scalp, Richard Tozier!"

He took off his glasses and leant his head forward to give her access to the top of his head. "Am I gonna regret this?"

"Oh, I hope so," she said brightly as she squeezed a large blob onto his crown. "I mean- no, definitely not!"

"Eh," he shrugged, "I can always just shave my head."

"Oh, baby, no," she said, hushed, "there are people who can get away with that look, but you are not one of them."

"Fuck you!"

"Fuck you!"

They lapsed into comfortable silence. Something vaguely retro sounding echoed from where Bev's phone was propped against the sink.

"So you never really explained anything at the bar before," Bev said, as one song ended and a new, bluesier one began.

She didn't elaborate so Richie tried to turn that sentence over in his head, work out what it meant. "I don't really remember, honestly," he said, hedging his bets.

"I'm not surprised, you were pretty far gone, I thought Eddie was gonna deck you," she said, her voice smiling. "So how have you been?"

Richie didn't know what to think about that first bit. "Oh, fab, baby, totally shagtastic," he said in his best Austin Powers.

"Yeah?" She didn't rise to it. "What happened with that girl you were seeing? Olivia, or something?"

"Lily?"

"No, maybe Viola? Something Shakespearean?"

"Oh, Emilia?" He huffed a humourless laugh. "I didn't really see her for very long, I'd forgotten about that. Bit of a stick up her ass really, and I'm not talking about the fun kind."

"Gross," she said calmly, "what about everything else then? How have you been, for real?"

"Great, fine, yeah, I've been..." His voice died in his throat. He coughed. "Well, it was fun while it lasted, but I'm back now."

"What happened?"

Her voice was calm and quiet and fuck her, fuck her for understanding. Here he was, running back, tail between his legs, throwing away two years of tuition fees while she was stuck here in a town she hated, saving every penny for just a shot at a course she was way too good for anyway. And she still knew him so well. Fuck.

"I kinda... Flunked out," he said, quietly. He could never have admitted this to the others, not Bill or Stan or Eddie, who he'd known forever, not Ben or Mike, who were the cleverest people he'd ever met. "Turns out, I can't write essays for shit and I don't have the attention span to sit through five hour Swedish arthouse movies with no plot, so I guess film studies isn't for me. And there was this g- this girl, I guess, but it wasn't... I dunno. Feels like all I'm good for is watching Fleabag fan videos on YouTube now, like that's the level of art I'm suited to."

She hummed, gloves crinkling as she worked the bleach into his hair. It was soothing, like when his mum would shampoo his hair in the bath as a kid. "I don't think that's true, you just gotta find your thing. That takes time."

"But you know what you're doing," he said, trying not to sound like a petulant child, "you've got your thing you're good at."

"Do I?" She squeezed another cold blob of bleach onto his hair. "Phoebe didn't write Fleabag until she was 28. That gives you, what, 9 months to work it out?"

"Fuck off," Richie grinned, shoving at her hips.

She laughed and he looked up as she balanced herself. "Seriously, don't worry. You don't need to know what you want right now, and if you did know what you wanted, I wouldn't be here bleaching your hair."

"Everyone keeps asking me what I want," he said miserably. "I want to move on. I want to apologise, to everyone. I want to go to the theatre, I want to take clean cups out of the dishwasher and put them in the cupboard at home and the next morning, I want to watch my wife drink from them. And I want to make her feel good. I want to make her orgasm again, and again."

"That's a terrible British accent," Bev said lightly.

"Oh, like you could do any better!" He said, offended.

"Fuck off," she said, in a perfect British accent, and in that moment he loved her more than anything.

***

That night was the first night in a week he didn't go to Eddie's. Or rather, he did go, but the light was off once he got there, so he turned round and went back home.

***

His finger hovered over the download button, wavering. He wasn't sure why he was hesitating, it wasn't like fucking Henry Bowers or someone would be on it. Honestly, he wasn't sure why he was deliberating because it wasn't like anyone at all would be on it, not in Derry, and anyway, anyone who was would be someone he's known his whole life, which, yuck. But it wasn't nothing, or else-

"Richie?"

He snatched his phone up, blood running cold as he looked up, and someone was towering above his table, someone...

"Ben?"

"Yeah! Hi, Richie, fuck!" He held his arms out expecting a hug.

Ben, Jesus, Ben had gotten _hot_. He'd shot up a couple feet or so (not as much as Richie had, he noted smugly as he jumped to his feet) and lost a bunch of weight, becoming not lean but instead broad shouldered and toned. His hair was darker and cut like a fucking Calvin Klein model. Fuck, Richie would give up the height to look like that.

"Let me introduce myself," he held his hand out to Ben, "my name is Richie and you must be the guy my childhood friend ate, however did you escape?"

"Fuck off," Ben grinned, slapping his hand away but then pulling him into a hug. Richie tried not to cringe away immediately.

"No, seriously, what's your secret? It can't be diet or exercise, cause I ate a green pepper last week and I fuck twenty-four-sev but I still look like this."

"Sex isn't exercise, douchebag." Eddie was standing behind Ben, Richie hadn't noticed him, and his tone so familiar in its annoyance that Richie shivered.

"That's not what your mum told me last night," he said, switching to a breathy moan of a voice, "this is the only cardio I'll ever do, Richie, don't sto-"

"Same old Richie," Ben interrupted quickly, "man, you got tall! And, uh, blonde!"

"I thought you were off in Canada or whatever," Richie said, "fancy architecture school or something?"

"Yeah, it's reading week," Ben said. He reached out to touch the yellow straw that was now Richie's hair. "Fuck dude, what happened?"

"It's twice the price to touch, haystack, hands off!"

"I told him not to," Eddie said smugly. Richie glared at him.

"Eddie just picked me up from the airport, I'm buying him a coffee for his trouble," Ben jerked his head towards the counter, "can I get you anything?"

"Oh, nah, thanks, don't worry I'm just, uh," Richie looked away from Eddie, "I'm just on my way out, but let's go to the bar while you're here man, yeah?"

Ben looked surprised. "Yeah, okay, sure!"

"Cool, I'll, yeah, see you around then," he said, edging round them.

Just before the door swung shut, he heard them strike back up their conversation - "Sorry to hear about Ty, Eddie, I-" and he walked as fast as was publicly acceptable until he was over the bridge and far past the route to Ben's house. Eddie hadn't looked at him once.

***

_**Edward Soninlaw**: Do you want to come round for dinner?_

_**Edward Soninlaw**: Mums out of town for a bit, I want to try this new recipe_

_**Edward Soninlaw**: You have to wear something nice though, I'm making an effort so you have to_

_ooh sounds yummy when do you want me_

_**Edward Soninlaw**: 6:30?_

_ill put on my best heels_

***

It felt weird to be walking up to Eddie's front door, rather than sneaking round to his window. It felt even weirder to be doing it in his only white shirt and a tie he borrowed from his dad and a blazer from his mom. If Eddie called him out on the skinny jeans, he'd count it a victory. He prided himself on the two bottles of white wine in his arms because they were only the second cheapest at the liquor store, rather than reliable old Echo Falls grape hell, and he tried not to see it as a hint.

He rang the doorbell (nostalgic) then knocked on the door (obnoxious), huffing out a breath in the cool air and bouncing on his dress shoe-ed toes. He glanced around the neighbourhood while he waited, not sure what he was looking for, and didn't he recognise that car parked across the street-

The door opened.

"Bill!" Richie tried not to sound surprised and failed.

"Richie!" Bill was wearing a slightly too-big waistcoat and his white shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows. He stepped to one side with a sweep of his arm. "Come in."

Richie narrowed his eyes. Music and laughter came from the kitchen; something smelled amazing.

"You look great, man," Bill said and Richie could hear the warmth in his voice.

"Thanks, I, uh... You too," he said uncertainly.

"Go on through then," Bill said.

Richie looked at him, could tell he looked like a rabbit in the headlights, and Bill was grinning. "Did you lure me here to kill me?"

"Yeah, we figured it saves time to have you already in your funeral suit," Bill grabbed his arm and pulled him in. "Best foot forward, Richie."

A cheer came from the kitchen as they stepped through the doorway, and for a second Richie couldn't see anything but party poppers and some glittery letters blutacked to the opposite wall - WELCOME HOME RICHIE. They were hand drawn in Ben's best bubble writing, which, coming from Ben, was pretty fucking great. Ben and Bev had been sitting at the table and stood up as he came in, and Mike and Eddie were at the sink and hob respectively. Eddie's suit was slightly small, the black tie and jacket a bit ridiculous under his hospital-scrub-green apron. His eyes crinkled as he smiled at Richie. Time froze.

"Guys," Richie said, but his voice caught.

Then Bill took the bottles from him and they were replaced by an armful of Beverley in a choppy red dress. "We know it's late but we wanted to do it anyway," she said. She didn't say, you looked like you needed it, but it was implied.

"You didn't have to," he said, trying unsuccesfully to speak rather than croak as he was passed to Ben in a soft grey shirt that Richie couldn't look directly at if he wanted to keep his cool. "Did you come back just for this? Dude!"

"Don't thank me just yet," Ben said cryptically with a quick squeeze, then turned him round. Bill stepped out of the way and-

"Surprise," Stan said, all navy suit, yellow tie, awkward wave.

Richie opened his mouth then closed it again. His eyes were burning. They were hugging before he realised he'd moved. More cheers, another party popper, Eddie hissing that his mom was still upstairs so quiet down, the pop of a cork, Stan's arms tight around his back and shoulders as they were surrounded by their friends in a group hug that teetered on the edge of collapse.

"Fuck all of you," Richie said snottily.

"We love you too," Mike said, "and dinner's ready."

They were each assigned jobs and Richie's long limbs put him on crockery duty, passing the plates down to Bill for the table, who let him do it quietly and didn't mention it when Richie wiped his nose against the cuff of his sleeve a couple times. Richie was so grateful he could have kissed him.

They all sat down as Eddie served up carbonara for those who ate pork and Mike served dished out spaghetti with fresh pesto for Stan, Richie, and Bev. "There's no parmesan in it," he said to Beverley, "but Stan and Richie, I'd recommend adding some for yours, it just makes it a bit fuller."

"Since when did you become Chef Boyardee?" Richie asked, poking at the pasta with his fork; it looked amazing.

"Me and Eddie take it in turn to host dinner parties every month," he shrugged, "it's just fun, gives us an excuse to try stuff out."

There was a difference between knowing you've been gone a while, and seeing that your friends had made new traditions without you. Richie swallowed. "That's cool," he said.

"How was your flight?" Ben asked across the table.

Stan, reaching for a chunk of garlic bread as Eddie put the dish down, shivered theatrically. "Three people threw up on the descent. I mean, their food was bad enough going down, the smell of it once it came up was-"

"Dude!" Eddie said, "we're about to eat!" He sat down in the spare seat next to Richie with a pointed thud.

Richie started pouring the wine. Conversationally, he said, "so would you say, on a scale of one to the cheese in the fridge of that abandoned house on Neibolt street, how bad- ouch, no, give it back-"

"I swear to God, Tozier, if you don't-"

Bill grabbed at their wrists from across the table. "Come on, guys, it's a dinner party! Richie, stop being an asshat, you're spilling the wine -"

"He started it!"

"Beep beep, man, and Eddie, give Richie his pasta back," Bill commanded, "Mike put real effort into that."

"Yes, _mom_," Richie said, sullenly slouching back into his chair.

Eddie put his plate back down in front of him. "Sorry, Mike."

"No harm, no foul," Mike said, in just such a way that implied the harm was yet to come.

"Apart from that, okay flight," Stan continued as if there had been no interruption, "there were a few spare seats so I could put my seatback down a bit and nap."

Richie finished pouring the wine while Ben chimed in; despite his goading Eddie, he really did want this night to go nicely now he'd stopped feeling wrong-footed by the expectation that Eddie- that he and Eddie were- he didn't know how to finish that sentence. He focused on not spilling the wine.

When the talk across the table devolved into two smaller conversations and everyone started tucking into their food in earnest, Eddie nudged him with his elbow. "Sorry for the false pretences," he said, "only you wouldn't have come on time if you knew."

Richie faked outrage. "Says who? I think you," and he pointed with his loaded fork, "just like being dramatic."

Eddie rolled his eyes. "Rich, you've been avoiding seeing more than one of us at a time for like a month."

"No I haven't," Richie said quickly through his mouthful of spaghetti but Eddie was right; he would have thought that all these people in a room together was gonna feel like trying to capture a feeling that no longer existed. Instead, he was here and it was golden and, from the way Eddie was smiling, he knew. Fuck giving him the satisfaction though. He took another bite of food before he spoke, just to see Eddie wrinkle his nose. "So your mom's upstairs? She lets you have parties now?"

Eddie wrinkled his nose and looked away pointedly. "Yeah, since me and Ty last year, I kind of... I kind of exploded at her, and she had a bit of a breakdown, honestly. She lived in a hospital for a month. It was... Yeah."

"That's tough, man." Richie tried to accept it all without judgement, remembering a tiny Eddie with a lunchbox of pills and inhalers and how he'd defended his mother every time anyway. "Who's Ty?"

Eddie shot him a flat look. "Don't start that again."

Richie was taken aback by the short tone. "What?"

"Eddie?"

Speak of the devil, Richie thought, as the table fell silent at the voice from the hall. Sonia stood just at the edge of the circle of light in the doorway, thinner than the last time he'd seen her but no less deranged looking. Her eyes were on Richie's hand where it gripped the back of Eddie's chair.

"Wychodzę teraz, chcę tylko- będę w domu o nine, okay?" She hesitated. "I'm just- będę w domu o dziewiątej."

"Okay, mom," Eddie said, and went into the hallway. She lingered behind him, still looking at Richie. He took his hands off Eddie's chair, sat on them instead.

"Have a nice time at aerobics, Mrs Kaspbrak," Mike said.

She finally stopped watching Richie and looked at him instead, and her face sort of twitched. Richie rather thought she was trying to smile, and then she shuffled away down the hall.

"She does water aerobics twice a week, and bingo on Sundays," Mike explained to him in a low voice as Eddie helped his mother with her shoes. "They've both been seeing a therapist." Eddie kissed Sonia on the cheek and opened the door for her.

"Oh," Richie said and looked down at his plate without seeing it.

"Yeah," Mike said heavily.

"Good on her," Ben said quietly.

"Good on him," Bev added intensely, then shook herself and smiled as Eddie came back in. "Anyway, I think I speak for everyone when I say, our compliments to the chefs!"

"Here, here," Richie said, in his best Ian McKellan, holding up his glass as Eddie sat down with a wan smile. "To the only losers with any real skills!"

Bill and Stan and Bev all protested, but Ben just shrugged, and everyone clinked their glasses together anyway.

***

Between pasta and dessert, while Mike and Eddie were tending to the oven, Richie ducked out for a smoke. He was having a great time but it was just a little overwhelming, all the music and loudness and laughter that his friends generated after so long away from them. He wasn't used to it. As he lit up in the cold air, Beverley stuck her head out the window next to him.

"Hola, señor Tozier," she said in a strangled impression of their old Spanish teacher, "como estas?"

"Muy bien, muy bien," he said in a similar (but better) mimicry. "Y tu, señorita Marsh?"

"Oh, muy bien," she said, stretching the y sound. Then, in her regular voice, "is that a spliff?"

He nodded as he took a drag, then offered it to her.

She took a puff and sucked in some air through her teeth, and they grinned before they breathed out together, smoke mingling in the air, lit by the glow of the house.

"Thanks for organising this, Bev," he said quietly.

"I didn't-" she started, but he stopped her with a look. She smiled. "You're welcome." She looked so beautiful leaning out the window like that, her hair backlit by the light and catching gold, her eyelashes a dark sweep of mascara, that Richie kissed her cheek without even thinking about it. She looked up at him. He puffed a lungful of smoke into her face.

"God, Richie! Gross!" She squawked, reeling back inside but laughing as she went. "Fuck, ew!"

"What's going on?" Eddie's voice through the window as she pulled it shut. "What's that smell-" and then he was sealed outside on his own again. He sat down on the steps of the porch as it started to rain.

Behind him, the front door opened then closed. Footsteps across the deck. "Are you getting high on my porch?"

"Only a little bit," Richie said on an exhale, and smiled. "Want some?"

There was a pause.

"Shouldn't mix weed and wine, that's a bad hangover," Eddie said, and he sat down on the step a little too close so their thighs were pressed together, toes of their shoes catching the drips of rain from a crack in the guttering. Richie glanced at him and his cheeks had become cheerily rosy over the course of the last hour. He was smiling dopily.

"Is Eddie Spagheddie admitting to having imbibed marijuana? Is Eddie Spagheddie drunk" he said with faux wonder, "in his own house, and on a school night too?"

"Mm-hmm," Eddie nodded happily, trapping his fingers between his thighs to protect them from the chill. "Helps with the cooking," he elaborated.

"Yeah, I've heard that," Richie laughed, nudging their shoulders together. "You're really good at it, I'm sorry I missed the other dinner parties."

"That's okay, no one blames you for leaving," Eddie said plainly, "we all want to, you just managed it first. I'll cook it all for you now you're back anyway." He slung an arm round Richie's shoulders. "Back for now, at least."

This Eddie was fun, Richie decided. "We'll see, I guess. What's on the menu for dessert?" He asked, just to keep him talking.

"Vegan pavlova," Eddie said, "we saw it on the Great British Bake Off," and he leaned forward to take a drag from Richie's forgotten spliff, right between his fingers where he arms were crossed on his thighs. Eddie's head lingered there, in his lap, and for a second, Richie was worried he was dreaming, then that he was going to throw up, and then Eddie dragged himself back upwards as he emptied his lungs. He said, "it's made with chickpea-"

Richie tried to kiss him.

Eddie jumped about a foot back.

There was a very still, very quiet, loud moment.

"What the fuck," Eddie said, voice hollow.

"Sorry, no, I just," Richie backtracked, what the hell, what the fucking hell, "what?"

"You think just because I'm-" Eddie looked suddenly white, colourless, "just because you're high, and I'm- that you would- that I would let you-?"

Richie's stomach was suddenly gone and his heart was lead. Not Eddie, fuck, he knew he was in Derry, but please not Eddie. He couldn't speak, he couldn't look up. Had he really thought Eddie would let him?

"Fuck you, Richie," Eddie said, and Richie flinched at the venom in his voice as he stood. Richie silently begged him to just storm off, to just leave him to this misery, but he started pacing around. "I threw a fucking- me and Bev put this whole fucking party together for you and- why can't you just go try it on with her? Fuck, Richie, I'm not-"

"Don't you think I wish I could?" Richie was almost laughing, speaking before he could catch himself. "You think I don't know how much easier it would be if she was the one I was in love with?"

There was a ringing silence. He winced.

"You- she- what?" Eddie spluttered. His eyes were wide and his eyebrows were going like a mad thing. Richie had said it now, he knew now it was true.

"It's fine that you're straight, what do I care," Richie lied through his gritted teeth, balling one hand into a fist as he got to his feet and mirrored Eddie's barely contained energy, "just don't go around trying to tell me-"

"But I'm not straight!" Eddie exclaimed. "You're the straight one, I'm gay!"

Now it was Richie's turn to widen his eyes and start spluttering. "You're- no I'm not! I'm gay as shit!"

"You have told me at painful length how fun eating pussy is, you're not gay!"

"It is fun, but I'm not- it's just sex, I'm not interested in girls like that, I'm-" Richie cut himself off. "Wait, when did we ever talk about my sex life?"

Eddie fixed him with a look.

"My real sex life, I mean," Richie waved his hand dismissively, "all we do is watch films, then talk about them, then watch more fucking films-"

"At the bar, asshole!" Eddie yelled, "for, like, an hour! You wouldn't shut up!"

"What bar? When?" Richie matched his volume.

"When you first came back! Like a month ago!" Eddie was back to pacing. "When else have we ever fucking talked?"

Riche ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, then something clicked and he felt like he'd been smacked in the head. "Wait, hold up, you're gay? Since when?"

"Oh, fuck off!" Eddie said, laughing in disbelief, "you teased me about Ty for longer than you talked about fucking pussy!"

"Who is Ty?" Richie yelled at the heavens. "All anyone talks about-"

"Fucking hell, how high are you-"

"-is Ty, I'm not high, fuck off-"

"-he's my ex, you asshole! My only fucking ex, the only one who ever wanted me, unlike you and your parade of fucking Phoenix girlfriends!"

Richie's voice died in his throat and he looked at Eddie. There was fury in his eyes that burned for a second before wilting and then they were both looking at the floor. Richie realised the music from inside had stopped and he knew they were being watched. For once in his tiny, stupid life, he didn't care at all.

"He's not the only one," Richie said, quietly, and he nearly said what he meant, he'd said it once already so he could say it again, except he couldn't so he just repeated himself instead, louder this time when Eddie shook his head, "he's not the only one who ever wanted you."

Eddie looked up at him and there were tears in his eyes, maybe self-pity but probably just anger. He sometimes cried when he was really frustrated. Richie knew this about him. Eddie's shoulders were curled forward, hunched with misery. It was hard to look at. Richie took an uncertain step forward.

"You fucking shithead," Eddie said, and met him in the middle.

The kiss was not the best ever; angry and garlicky and way, way overdue. Richie wondered if it was still kosher to kiss someone who's just eaten bacon, and he misjudged the angle and bumped their teeth together, and he didn't know what to do with his hands so he just left them in midair.

Eddie stretched up on his toes, Eddie gripped his face and repositioned them, Eddie kissed him back. It was amazing. Time ceased. There weren't words for this.

Then the front door opened with a click that was somehow the loudest noise on earth, and they jumped apart like guilty teenagers. Richie covered his tingling lips with a hand that was still clutching the stub of his spliff, curling his other arm over his stomach and staring at a point somewhere over Mike's left shoulder as he smirked at them.

"Pavlova's ready," he said.

"Okay," Eddie said.

"Be right in," Richie said.

"Uh-huh," Mike smiled knowingly, and he left the door open for them as he went back inside.

They looked at each other.

"We are going in there and eating this fucking dessert and then they are all leaving and you and me," Eddie gestured between them frantically, "are gonna go upstairs and talk about it, okay?"

"Okay," Richie said.

"Okay," Eddie said, desperate, "okay, dessert, oka-" Richie kissed him again, and he kissed back, and he kissed back, and Richie's back hit the wall of the house and they were still kissing, and then they had to break apart to breathe but Eddie's mouth was still right there so he kissed it again. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on Eddie's.

"Okay," he whispered, then picked the roach up from where he'd dropped it and flicked it past the bushes; he went into the house without looking back because he knew that otherwise, he never would.

The kitchen was silent, the only sound the click of spoons on ceramic as Mike dished out dessert, the others just waiting and trying not to be obvious as they watched Richie and Eddie sit down.

"What happened to the music?" Eddie said, loud with nerves, "did my phone die?"

"Uh, the, um," Bev cleared her throat, "the playlist ended," she said unconvincingly.

Richie reached behind him, pulling it off the counter without unplugging the aux chord for Bill's portable speakers. "Ended mid-song, huh?" He said dryly.

"Yep," Stan said, straight-faced as you like. Richie glared at him but there was a reason he always won at cards. Richie clicked play on the next song.

Alabama Shakes warbled into the tense silence and it was like a joke somehow, like he was dreaming, because of _course_.

"Well, you should have left it on," Eddie said tremulously, "we were having a bus stop moment anyway."

Beverley snorted and then like a flood, everyone was laughing at once. Even as they joined in, Richie found Eddie's hand under the table and their fingers twined together for the first time in a long time.


	2. Epilogue

It was gone 11 when the last of the losers (Bev and Ben) finally left, sent on their way with the last of the oatmilk ice cream from the freezer partly as a reward for helping with the dishes but mostly because fuck off were Richie or Eddie eating that shit if they didn't have to. Eddie's mom had got back a couple hours ago and gone straight up to bed with a kiss a blushing "dobranoc, mamo" from Eddie, one of the few times in their lives that the rest of the losers had actually heard him speak any Polish. Richie considered filing it away in his brain for Later Sexual Explorations, but then tried to imagine speaking any Hebrew during sex and immediately vetoed any non-English-based lovemaking. Then he realised he was getting ahead of himself, but what was new with that anyway so he smiled at Eddie, suddenly awkward, and wordlessly followed him upstairs. They both jumped the creaky stair and both tiptoed round his door in that single way that stopped it swinging into the drawers behind it and, once it was closed, both just looked at each other.

Richie sat down on the bed. He looked down at his too-large dress shoes on Eddie's familiar threadbare carpet.

Eddie hesitated near the door, looking between the bed and the chair, then just standing on one leg to pull his shoes off where he stood. He shoved them under the dresser then shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over the edge of the desk, smoothing out creases for a few seconds that Richie wasn't sure really existed in the cleanly pressed fabric. He just sat and watched and gathered his heart into his hands.

"Listen, Eds, I-"

"You should, uh, you should take your shoes off," Eddie said, looking at somewhere to the right of Richie's ankles. "If, y'know, if you're staying the night." Then, quickly, "and you should. I want you to. Stay the night, I mean."

Richie put a hand on his chest and crossed one leg over the other, foot teasing into a dainty point. "Why, Mr Kaspbrak," he said in a breathy Southern drawl, "but my daddy's expecting me home by dark." He extended his leg further, wiggling his foot pointedly.

Eddie rolled his eyes but knelt in front of him anyway. "Bastard," he said, and started to untie the laces.

A few seconds passed.

"Having a dash of trouble there, Mr Kaspbrak?"

A few seconds more. Richie's shoes didn't feel any looser.

"Jesus, Richie, did you superglue them?"

Richie rolled his eyes and leant down to do them himself. "Honestly, for someone who's so detail-obssessed, you're really not very good-" but the laces weren't budging- "uh, not very good at-" they still weren't budging- "mother_fucker_. Try the other one."

"Really?" Eddie huffed, "how will that help if this one stays on?" He tried the other one.

Richie tried the other one. His phone fell out his pocket in his efforts and hit the ground with a dull thud.

"Fuck," they said at the same time, and then they laughed at the same time, and that made them laugh even harder at the same time. They were giddy, they were 13 years old again.

"You dumb asshole," Eddie wheezed out, wiping tears off with the back of his hand, "I can't believe I like you, I could do so much better."

"Yeah?" Richie said, "well, why don't you, Mac?" He fell back on the bed, sides aching with mirth.

_Bzzt, bzzt._ Muffled against the carpet, Richie's phone lit up the room.

"Who's it from?" Richie asked, too lazy to get up.

The light danced across the ceiling as Eddie looked at it. "Jesus, man, turn down your brightness maybe, it's from, uh..." His voice turned sour. "Who's 'the hottest man I've ever met'?"

"Ben, obviously," Richie said, "he got promoted to that from 'may contain the jets'."

"So what's mine then?"

"... I'll change yours."

"Screw you!" Eddie threw Richie's phone at his head and only barely missed so Richie kicked him and then rolled out of reach further up the bed. Underneath him, his phone went off again, _bzzt, bzzt_, and a second later, _bzzt, bzzt_.

He unlocked the screen.

_WhatsApp • 1개의 대화방에서 메시지 3개의 새로..._   
_ **The Loser's Club (3)** _   
_the hottest man ive ever met: dropped off bev a..._   
_Micycle: Yeah congrats R+E :) and thanks Ben, t..._   
_Micycle: Also the apostrophe on Losers' has bee..._

"Anything worth replying to?" Eddie asked.

"Nah," Richie said, switching his phone onto silent and tucking it onto the windowsill. He loved his friends, but a carefully timed morning after text would land more of a comedic punch.

Ungracefully, Eddie flopped down next to him. "Why's your phone in Japanese?"

"I think it's Korean," Richie said with a shrug. "Someone changed it for a joke years ago and I never got round to changing it back. I kinda like it now, not knowing what buttons will do."

"You're ridiculous."

"Thank you, baby, you say the nicest things." Richie turned to look at him and their noses were only inches apart. He had to look over his glasses to get him in focus.

"Like a sexy librarian," Eddie said sarcastically.

"Nah, that's more Mike's shit," Richie said, "I was gunning for the classic professor fantasy, I'm putting my chips on that kink because if you, like me, were taught by Dr Bowen in chemistry, you'd have one too."

That shocked another laugh from Eddie. "Fuck, you're right! I'd forgotten about him, he was hot."

"So hot," Richie agreed emphatically and they shared a smile that was 10% leftover laughter and 90% relief.

Eddie's eyes dropped to his lips, his pupils dilated in the half light of the street lamps through the curtains, and Richie couldn't help but look at his mouth too as his tongue wet his top lip and they were moving closer and Richie was impressed because wow, this was what Eddie meant by going upstairs to talk?

Richie put a hand on Eddie's chest and ignored the look of frustration; he just needed this, for these few seconds before the rest of his life. "Wait, I just gotta know, before we do this, like for real..." He caught his breath shakily then steeled himself and looked into Eddie's eyes. "Was Dr Bowen hotter than me?"

"Oh, absolutely."

"Ah, so you're in this for my charming personality?"

"Not at all."

"Big dick?"

"Doubt it."

"Razor-sharp wit?"

"You don't have one."

"Sweetheart, don't stop, it gets me so hard when you insult me like that," Richie said, grossly lusty, only half joking.

"I know, baby," Eddie said, "why else would I do it?"

Richie's hand moved to Eddie's neck and dragged him in; maybe he'd struggle to get out of these skinny jeans if even his shoes refused to come off, but he had a feeling they were going to give it a damn good try.

**Author's Note:**

> POLISH TRANSLATIONS  
Wychodzę teraz, chcę tylko- : I'm going out now, I just want to-  
Będę w domu o dziewiątej : I'll be home at nine  
Dobranoc, mamo : Goodnight, mom
> 
> i'm gonna be honest here - i only saw chapter 1 once and i'm not gonna read the books , so if any of this is horrifically ooc , sorry but there's a canon gay in a mainstream movie so i don't get a choice , i have to stan
> 
> come find me at [thisisagaysonlyevent](https://www.thisisagaysonlyevent.tumblr.com) on tumblr for incoherent tag screaming , or leave a comment to sustain my literal lifeforce . fingers crossed for someone to hack new line and release all the forbidden reddie footage i just know ended up on the cutting room floor


End file.
